


After A Leap

by sassenachpetals



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Nausea, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassenachpetals/pseuds/sassenachpetals
Summary: Missing Moments. A collection of three one-shots.  In 2x07 "Faith," we see Jamie & Claire agree to overcome their loss together.  Then, we see them more or less back into their rhythm and intimacy at Lallybroch in 2x08.  This is an attempt to fill in those gaps.What does it look like to share grief?  How do you get back to the point of trust and openness?***all characters and places herein belong to Diana Gabaldon and the Outlander franchise***





	1. Descent, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place after the events of 2x07, “Faith.” Jamie and Claire have packed up their Paris apartment and are on the ship back to Scotland.

Jamie Fraser heard a soft rap on the door. The sound was timid, but it exploded into the small space of the cabin, causing another wave of nausea to crash into his chest and expel itself in liquid. His insides lurched as he vomited into the bucket placed between his legs.

“Come in,” he managed to mumble, spitting at the floor, almost daring it to comment on his pathetic condition.

Claire hurried in, shutting the door behind her.

“I’ve had just enough of these sailors,” she began. “But I thought I’d bring you some supper—“ she stopped when she caught sight of him hunched over himself, sitting on their bed, his head between his knees. “Oh. Jamie…” she said in hushed tones, slowly stooping to his level. As she knelt, the scent of the food she’d brought with her reached his nostrils. He groaned.

“Please, Sassenach, no food. I cannae bear the sight of it,” Jamie huffed out, a hand flying to his mouth.

She chuckled softly. “No, I’d imagine not.” Her laughter, however soft, was a welcome gust of life into the otherwise lifeless body he inhabited at the moment. He heard her place the tray as far from him as their cramped cabin would allow and then she reached out a hand to brush the damp hair out of his face, briefly cooling his forehead.

Slowly, she lifted his chin, her chilled fingers grazing the stubble that was beginning to grow and he felt his strained muscles relax slightly as she examined his face. They’d been underway for less than a week, but for most of that time, he had not seen his wife aside from mealtimes or in the evenings. So, her presence now was soothing.

“Headache, too?” she asked, concern registering in her eyes.

“Aye,” he responded. The damned headache had reared its head earlier in the morning and had not let up.

“Can you lay down?” she said quietly to mind his splitting headache. “It might help.”

“I dinna think so. Not without the entire cabin spinning like a mill.” 

She hummed a murmur of assent. “Alright, then shift over, soldier.”

He did so—slowly—making room for her on the cot. Claire got up behind him on the mattress, a knee on either side of him, anchoring him to the reality that he was not in fact being tossed around on this ship, regardless of what his body may be telling him. Gingerly at first, then more firmly, she began massaging his temples and, after a few moments, the relief from the headache elicited a deep groan from his throat. _Praise Mary, mother of God_. He was aware of the way he was slowly melting into his wife’s frame behind him but he had no desire to stop.

Another soft rumble from her chest forming into a chuckle flitted at his ear. “Does that feel better?"

He was only able to grumble something incomprehensible in appreciation, as her fingers continued their circles, a welcome respite from the prior throbbing. Jamie didn’t know how long they sat that way, in silence: him taking strength from her fingertips and presence, her breathing in the quiet. Then she spoke.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here.”

“Och, it’s no matter.” He gently patted her knee with his left hand.

“You’ve been down here ill and I—“

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I hardly could have joined ye and ye had other things on yer mind.” He felt her tense against him and it wrenched his gut; immediately, he regretted his words. Nausea-ridden, his mind raced, stumbling for a way forward.

They’d spent most of the sea voyage apart so far, through no conscious intent of their own. He couldn’t stand being anywhere but their bed—he couldn’t _stand_ at all, really—meanwhile, Claire had found the stuffy cabin claustrophobic and yearned for the fresh air. Even though it seemed the smallest gust of air would blow her overboard, frail and quiet as she’d been since—

His heart constricted, tears burning at the back of his throat. _Since Faith._

So, he’d spent most of the first days heaving into a bucket while Claire stared at the open sea from the bow of the ship. He knew what occupied her mind and the thought of it once again brought another wave of nausea.

“_Ah dhia_—“ More bile into the bucket. After a few steadying breaths and another curse, he settled against her again and grasped at a life-line to change the subject, “Ye’ve been keeping the ship’s path straight at the bow, have ye?”

There was silence, as she switched from massaging his temples to mopping his brow with the hem of her dress. “Not exactly,” she said quietly. Then continued, “I don’t think the captain would be wise to rely on my nautical navigation skills.” He heard the small smile in her voice. Briefly, he wondered if it had reached her whisky eyes.

They sat in silence a bit longer before she sidled out from behind him and rummaged in their trunk of belongings. Pulling out a piece of cloth, she wet it in the bowl of water beside their bed and then returned to his side.

“Sit back. I want to try something,” she instructed, and he did so, leaning against the wall of their cabin. As she ran the cloth along his brow, he wrinkled his nose. His eyes and nose stung from an intense scent.

He didn’t have to ask. “It’s peppermint. Helps with nausea, and headaches actually. Or it should,” she offered.

“If you say so, Sassenach,” he responded, placing a kiss on her wrist.

The cloth slowly moved across his face and he looked at her. Really looked at her.

For the first time since she’d entered their cabin, the nausea was clearing and Jamie saw his wife clearly. Her dark hair was messy, curls displaced by the wind on the main deck and she seemed frail. Still familiar to him—_how could they not be_? he thought—the lines of her face were sharper than he’d ever seen them. Her traveling dress was simple, a far cry from the lavish clothes of Paris they’d been accustomed to for months. But she was strong—and so beautiful. Every inch of her.

For a second, her glass face revealed a flash of sadness when she caught his eyes. Just as quickly, the softness hardened.

“Say something next time you’re feeling this ill, Jamie,” she instructed in a tone he imagined she used helping patients at L’Hospital Des Anges. “I can brew some peppermint tea, or ginger even. You’ll need to replenish the liquids you’ve lost, as well—“

“Sassenach—“

“—and I can apply some acupressure if the headache comes back—”

“_Claire_,” He spoke again, more forcefully. “I willna deny this is helping. But I’ve caused ye enough pain. There’s no need for ye to be cooped up down here wi’ me while I wretch my insides out,” he said, bitterly cursing the thought of upheaving again.

Her caresses stopped.

She was sitting back on her feet, removed from him. “Caused me pain?” she asked, her voice strained.

Jamie shifted. “Aye. That seeing me reminded ye of…” he began hopelessly, unable to finish his thought and unable to say their daughter’s name as his eyes rose to meet his wife’s broken expression. 

Her eyes were pained and, with difficulty, she looked away, but her voice held no emotion. “Of her?”

“I’d understand, ye ken?”

“Jaime…” Claire paused and took his hand. She ran her fingers along his palm, then gripped with an intensity he hadn’t expected. It grounded him, even as he dreaded the words that his mouth continued to form.

“You couldna seem to look at me. I ken the pain I caused you.”

“You’re right.” Jamie’s heart dropped at her words, falling further and further through the floorboards—though he didn’t blame her. Images of his wife alone in L’Hospital coping with this loss once again flooded his mind. Images of…Faith…small and perfect, but without any real detail in his mind; he’d never know the shape of her face or the quirks in her smile. Unable to bring himself to look at Claire, he clutched at her hand tightly.

“I am in pain, Jamie. I still think about her. Her face. Trying to remember her features, because as much as I try, it’s getting harder,” her voice cracked. “Trying to stay standing, because all I want to do is crumple. So, yes, I thought I needed to be alone…” 

He only nodded, stroking her palm, her thumb, her wrist; listening, but still unable to raise his eyes to her.

“…at first, anyways. But—“ her voice caught again. “You said, James Fraser, that the only way we can carry this pain was together. And you were right. I’ve been trying and failing on my own...I need you.”

The thin dam holding back her emotions was breaking. He wanted desperately to hold her then.

“And I need you,” he responded, close to the brink as well. There was a silence as they both weighed their words, trying to find a way forward together, still grasping fiercely at each other’s hands. Finally, Claire spoke.

“I know. We need each other.” Her breath hitched. “I miss her,” came the smallest whisper. Her body shook with a hiccupping breath, unable to hold back the tears anymore which fell freely now on her cheeks.

With a small cry, he immediately enveloped her in his arms, her head fitting into its spot on his shoulder. Jamie’s hands stroked her hair, her back, her neck, desperate to reassure her that he was there and she clung tightly to his loose shirt, her tears soaking it’s worn material. 

“I do, as well, _mo chridhe_. I do, as well,” he responded, his own voice breaking.

They clung tightly to each other and released the tears that had not come while they’d packed the Paris apartment. That hadn’t come on their carriage ride to the port. That hadn’t come as they’d tucked Fergus into his cabin that first night on the ship. Their bodies flush against each other and wracked with sobs, they let themselves take comfort from the other’s grief.

He cried for himself and his loss. He cried for the moments with his daughter that were gone from him. He cried for his wife and her grief which he could not bear _for_ her, only _with_ her. Words were inadequate and a piece of them would always be missing, but by the grace of God, they had each other. 

___________________________________

Hours later, their sobs had quieted to muffled breaths. His wife was still entwined in his arms as they leaned against the cabin wall. They had just laid there and grieved and now it was well into the evening. Neither had spoken but much had been shared: a comfort in knowing the other cried for the same things.

Jamie ran his fingers along Claire’s shoulder and her arm, her mat of curls lit hazily by the softly glowing lamps around them. Even the lamps seemed to have dimmed their luminescence in acknowledgment of the sacred moment before them.

“Are ye tired, Sassenach?” he asked quietly in the dark. He felt her stir.

“Yes.” Her voice was small, but the essence of his wife was still there. “You?”

“Aye. I cannae say I did much sleeping myself these past days.” His boot kicked the bucket beside their cot, still full of his vomit.

She crinkled her nose and let out a laugh. He joined her. The brief levity made breathing easier and, with the momentary weightlessness, Claire pulled back a bit to look at him; it was her turn to trace the lines of his face. The touch of her fingers forced a smile to form. Those same fingers that had set his hand and protected his heart in Paris were now pulling him out of his shell.

So close together, Jamie’s ears rang with electricity. Claire’s eyes caught his own and for another moment, it was just them. No ship, no sickness, no time. Their breathing in tandem, he leaned forward to place a kiss on her tear-stained lips, when her hand abruptly caught his chest. One eyebrow was raised and her head was cocked to the side.

“If you think you’re coming anywhere near me with that mouth,” a meaningful glance at the bucket, “you are sorely mistaken.” A small smirk.

“Och, aye?” he queried, a dangerous lift to his mouth. He slowly advanced, with an over exaggerated sloppy wet smack of his lips. A full smile broke out on her face then and he gently placed a kiss on her neck, to leave her beautiful mouth untainted. 

He sat back and took in his wife’s face once more. A more serious glint in his eye made Claire freeze. Both of them sat inches from each other, their breath suspended along with the question in both their minds.

“Whenever you’re ready, Claire. Ye are sae precious to me.” He searched her face to know she understood. That he loved her. That he knew her. That, despite the fact that he was hurting too, he would _always_ need her. But that he knew she needed time.

She smiled again. “I love you.”

“And I love you, _mo nighean donn_.”

Gingerly, Claire leaned in and kissed him. It was small and quick at first, but soon deepened. Jamie’s hands came up to her face and he relished the feel of her under his fingers as much as his lips. Jamie felt his heart swell at the unspoken vow of renewed trust. Breaking for air, they sat, foreheads touching. Claire’s hands still hung at the back of his neck, grasping his hair.

“Claire,” he whispered. “Stay wi’ me?” 

She pulled away to look at him. Her eyes were glass, their wetness shimmering in the dull cabin and she nodded. 

“Always, Jamie.”

With that, they both lay out on the cot, relishing their nearness. Jamie felt her press close to his side, her arm draped over his chest and her leg entwined with his. He tightened his grip on her and closed his eyes. Content to smell the rosy, sea-salted scent of her, he counted her breaths. Measuring the length of her. Thanking every saint that she was here. That she was _his _and he was hers.

He did not know how long they lay there awake. Sleep did not come so easily anymore to either of them and there were no more tears to cry today. But, from now on, all they needed was each other and soon they began to drift off.

His Sassenach was clearing a path back to him, slowly perhaps, but surely. And she was bringing him back to himself, as well.


	2. Descent, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie, Claire, and Fergus have arrived in Scotland and are traveling the road to Lallybroch. They are near the end of their journey home.

The journey from the port to Lallybroch had already taken days. In fact, their small caravan still had one day left to travel through the green expanse of the Scottish highlands. Claire Fraser watched the horizon bob up and down with the stride of her horse. Purple heather speckled the landscape and the smell of the grass comforted her: they were home.

Drawing her eyes back to the road ahead, Claire watched her boys in front of her: her husband on a brown sorrel mare with Fergus mounted in front of him. They’d taken turns letting Fergus ride with each of them to the boy’s delight; but he was particularly partial to Jamie. Now, Claire saw her husband’s broad shoulders protectively keeping Fergus from tumbling off. She mused at the strength he carried even seated on a horse and traced the auburn curls flying free under the rare sunny sky, flashing gold and red and muddy brown.

Claire would catch words here and there between the two of them, enough to know Jamie must be telling Fergus stories. _Ever the true Scot,_ she thought with a smile. She could only imagine the grandness of the tale as, occasionally, Jamie’s hands would leave the reins to help illustrate a point or sweep across the skyline, painting a picture for the boy. Fergus was insatiable when it came to stories of Jamie’s childhood home, especially; he greatly anticipated their arrival at Lallybroch.

Aware that his wife was hanging behind them, Jamie slowed his horse’s pace to allow Claire to come up flush with them. Her husband’s sunny countenance proved to her the Scotland air had already done a number on their moods. She’d noticed the change in both of their gaits as soon as they’d stepped off the boat and onto solid ground back at port—the ground being an especially welcome sight for her husband.

“Having fun, you two?” she asked over the heavy thudding of their mounts’ hooves. With the summer air particularly warm today, their horses’ coats were damp with sweat; she could tell the weary animals would welcome a rest soon.

Fergus’ bright eyes danced as he swiveled in the saddle to proclaim, “_Oui_, milady! Milord was just telling me about—“ his mouth contorted to chew on the foreign word, “_HOG-a-may_?” He threw a quizzical glance back at Jamie.

“Close, lad. _Hogmanay_,” corrected Jamie, smirking at Claire.

“I see. Ready for the holidays, already?” Claire remarked.

“Milord told me, too, about all his nieces and nephews! I will become good friends with them,” Fergus said with a dour nod.

“I’m sure you will,” Claire agreed, amused at the boy’s solemnity. Having never had a real family of his own and certainly no children his age around, he surely looked forward to the novelty of it all. He would have a guaranteed community, and one into which he seemed determined to meld.

Fergus began relating to her all the things Jamie had told him about young Jamie, Margaret, and the newest Murray offspring, Katherine. At the mention of the newborn, Claire’s heart constricted.

_There it is._

Unwilling to let the tightness in her throat take over, she steadied her breaths, forcing them to slow, even as the road they traveled began to blur in her vision. When Jamie had initially told her about his newborn niece, she had wanted to be thrilled for Jenny—and she was—but she knew the first weeks at Lallybroch would carry with them pain as well.

Fergus had moved on to recounting the details of the stables and house itself when Claire caught her husband watching her. Spotting the question in his eyes, she simply shook her head, keeping her eyes forward. He respected her wish to leave it be and focused his attention back to Fergus; soon his voice joined the boy’s as Jamie continued on with another story. Something about the dogs he’d grown up with—Claire had long since stopped listening. Her mind was far away. 

* * *

As dusk neared, they pulled off under the cover of a cluster of trees to make camp for the night. Dismounting, Jamie crossed to her and gently touched her elbow.

“Sassenach?” his Scottish burr hummed with concern.

“Not now,” came the automatic response. A raised eyebrow from Jamie prompted her further, but she squeezed his hand. “I’m alright. Just—remembering.” Words caught in her throat and that was all she could manage without breaking down. Ever since the mention of baby Katherine, Claire had struggled to keep those emotions at bay. The last thing she needed was Jamie to prod further in front of Fergus.

Claire softened a bit at the thought of Fergus. He’d been there through it all, had even accompanied her back from L’Hospital that day. He was not ignorant and knew her pain; but she still felt this strong desire to protect him from any further ‘grown-up’ matters. He’d been through enough, God knew.

Jamie made a noise of acknowledgment then and kissed her forehead when movement from the corner of their eyes interrupted their moment.

“Fergus! No’ like that!” Jamie rushed off, his kilt swirling around him, to stop the lad before he unlatched the entire saddle and blankets into the dirty grass. _He is still just a boy, _she thought chuckling a bit, despite herself. 

Grooming her own horse, Claire watched over the curve of its back as Jamie showed Fergus the proper technique to brush down the mare, following the pattern of her coat. Fergus picked it up very quickly and was enthusiastically running the brush in confident strokes.

“Verra good, lad,” came Jamie’s voice. “But slow down. She’s a lady no’ a rug.” 

Fergus nodded and adjusted accordingly, with Jamie’s large hand guiding his smaller one. In the golden glow of the afternoon, Claire marveled at the soft highlights in Fergus’ hair and how his cheeks pinched in a familiar way when he smiled. Fergus spent so much time with Jamie that his smile was beginning to look a lot like her husband’s, she noted. In a way their daughter’s never would grow to…

Tears beginning to sting in her eyes, Claire quickly finished cooling down her own mount and moved on to setting up their camp for the night as Jamie and Fergus tied up the horses and left in search of meat.

* * *

They returned from their hunt just as Claire finished. She prepared the fire, as they skinned the unsuspecting rabbit they’d managed to catch. Soon, a stew of the meat and some vegetables they’d acquired was done and divvied out. A meager meal, it would do until they reached Lallybroch tomorrow evening and could enjoy a fuller array.

With the warm glow from the setting sun enveloping them, the three settled down to dinner.

Fergus made a face after his first taste of Claire’s handiwork. “You know what would make this better, milady? _Fromage de chèvre,_” the boy complained.

“Hm, goat cheese?” Claire asked, skeptical. She rather thought the stew had turned out nicely, given the limited ingredients.

Fergus didn’t respond, having resorted to greedily drinking the soup directly out of the bowl.

  
“Well, my recipe _seems_ satisfactory enough,” Claire pointed out. Fergus simply shrugged at her, innocently, and she shook her head. Despite his snobbish taste in food as of late, Claire appreciated that he felt at ease with them. The boy had been through too much in his lifetime already and Claire found herself fiercely protective of him. It would have been easy for him to be untrusting and her heart warmed with the fact that he seemed to trust herself and Jamie. Life would have been unimaginable without him these past months…

“My family raised goats, ye ken,” Jamie remarked beside her, his warm tones drawing her out of her reverie. Claire caught the playful lilt in his voice. They were in for another story, now that he was contentedly downing her stew.

That caught Fergus’ attention. His large blue eyes went wide. “Truly, milord?” he said with fascination.

Jamie leaned in conspiratorially. “Still do.”

Fergus beaming, Jamie launched into a story from his younger days.

“I remember a summer morning my older brother, Willie, decided to visit the herd. He was keen to see the weans. I was hardly big enough to walk m’self, but Willie was going, so I’d be damned if I didna go along, too. There must ha’ been a dozen of the small things, most suckling at their mother’s teet and me, not much taller than the oldest one.”

Claire smiled imagining an infant Jamie, red curls bouncing as his little legs struggled to keep up with his older brother.

“Have ye ever tried to catch a wee goat, Fergus?” At Fergus’ emphatic nod, Jamie continued. “Aye, they are speedy little devils. And the mothers, braw. But when Willie made a lunge at one, I didna expect its mother to come careening into me. I was thrown so hard on my side, my right thumb broke! I dinna remember that moment, but I’ve been told I made a sound no’ unlike a sp’rit from hell.”

Claire snorted, earning her a glare from her husband.

“Something funny, Sassenach?” he asked, his slanted eyes twinkling in jest.

She took a sip of her stew and choked out, “Not at all. Please, continue.”

A glint in his eye, Jamie continued his tale. His father, furious, had bounded around the corner to behold a screaming, red-faced Jamie and a rather guilty-looking Willie, frozen in place and holding the young goat he’d caught. Brian Fraser had swiftly snatched up both sons and deposited them safely outside the goat pen. After hearing what had happened, he’d announced Willie would be receiving the lash.

By this point, Claire had finished her stew and sat leaning against Jamie, his words vividly painting the picture while his fingers traced a lazy path on her shoulder.

“I remember the moments after Willie’s thrashing, though. My father became serious.” Jamie did his best approximation of his father’s voice, which amounted simply to a deeper octave than his own. “ ‘Wee James cannae defend himself and it’s up to you, _mo mhac_, to look out for him no’ land him with a broken finger!’ ”

Jamie’s face grew solemn. “ ‘When your mother and I are gone, all ye’ll have is each other’ he told us…and Willie never forgot that. Of course, I still looked up to my brother—he couldna do wrong in my eyes, ye ken—but he realized he was responsible for me. He took care of me—and Jenny, too.”

“Where is he now?” Fergus asked, genuinely curious.

Claire squeezed Jamie’s hand just then, aware of the pain Willie’s memory still brought him. He squeezed back before answering.  
  
“He died just a few years after that.”

“I am sorry, milord.” A few beats passed, as Fergus finished his stew and yawned, tiredness creeping up on him now the important task of eating was done. With a second thought, he added, “But he did not need to get in trouble.” 

“No?” Jamie asked, slurping the last of his own meal.

“He could have simply called the _bebé_ goats to him. In France, I used to do this all the time.” With that, Fergus let out the most hideous squeal that pierced through the night, making both of them jump and startling Claire nearly out of her skin.

Jamie began coughing, choking on the stew in his mouth, which spewed back out. Being more or less in the line of fire, Claire’s face was hit with chunks of carrot and luke-warm broth.

“Christ, lad!” Jamie wheezed, a hand over his mouth as he tried to catch his breath.

Shocked by the ridiculousness of the sound and her face’s subsequent pelting, Claire started shaking with laughter. Soon joined by Jamie, they laughed until she wiped tears from her eyes. Fergus, however, sat upright, looking confused.

“What?” he asked earnestly. “It always worked for me, milord! He did not have to risk you and your thumb.” He said it as though it were the plainest thing in the world.

“He’s got a point there, Jamie,” Claire said, desperately trying not to break composure as her husband gently picked off the pieces of food that had deposited themselves on her cheek and forehead.

“Aye, I suppose not, lad,” Jamie answered, his voice dry from laughter. “Ye’ll have to teach wee Jamie and Margaret that…sound.” _Sound, indeed, _Claire thought with a harrumph. “Jenny will be sure to thank ye.” Claire was not at all sure she would.

“Truly, milord?! Can I?” a thrilled Fergus chirped.

“Aye. But no’ until we reach Lallybroch—and for that, ye’ll need sleep. To bed wi’ ye.”

Fergus gave no objection and settled onto his bed of blankets, as Jamie crossed to place a blanket over his shoulders. The boy’s gangly limbs struggled to find a comfortable position. Even in the few months since meeting him, he had grown. He was still a boy, but glimpses of his future self were peeking through. Even knowing it was still a year or two off, Claire wasn’t sure she was ready to hear his voice lower or witness the sprouting of facial hair and she found herself glad that he’d have a chance for a prolonged youth at Lallybroch--

\--a childhood they wouldn’t be able to give Faith. Her throat tightened again, but she swallowed the emotion down.

“Goodnight, milord. Milady.” Finally comfortable, Fergus gave one last glance to his wards.

“Goodnight, Fergus,” Claire said. Within minutes, he was slumbering peacefully, his long lashes still as his mind dreamed of the friends he’d make at Lallybroch and all the goats he’d see, no doubt. Jamie had moved on to clearing the tin bowls and utensils and storing them back into a pack so Claire stoked the fire and began removing her boots, her own eyes beginning to droop drowsily. Lying down on their own blankets, she stretched her sore limbs. Days of horseback riding after months in a Parisian carriage were doing a number on her muscles.

Once Jamie had confirmed the horse’s leads were securely fastened to a nearby tree, he returned to his wife’s side, laying down beside her. Wordlessly, she shifted to make room for him; his body once again next to her, it warmed and lulled her heart further into a pleasant hum. His grunt of contentment as he settled down made her breath catch a bit.

It had been a long while since they’d made love. There’d been chance few moments alone between packing up the Paris apartment, the tumultuous sea voyage, and the presence of their young charge. Regardless, she’d been unable to imagine that intimacy with him yet. It was no longer anger but grief that presented a wall between them—and had since leaving Paris. 

However, for the first time since their loss, his presence made her heart drum quickly. Tears sprung to her eyes as a small wave of relief washed over her—those feelings were still there, near the surface. _Not now, but soon maybe, _she thought to herself with a pang of guilt. Simply relishing the feeling of him, she scooted closer to him, holding onto his solid chest and closing her eyes. She felt him place a kiss on her head as his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“Do ye wish to talk about it?” was all he whispered. Her mind raced searching for what he might be referring to before landing on it. _Earlier_, she thought. _He wants to know what I was thinking earlier on the road. _The thrumming in her heart abruptly stopped and she felt herself treading through the molasses of grief again.

She wasn’t sure she could talk about it. Slowly opening her eyes, Claire remained still against him and stared into the dancing flames of the fire, trying to draw strength from their bold light and the feel of Jamie under her palm. Though the familiar pang in her throat and chest was back, she knew there was only one way forward.

_The only way we can live with it, is to carry it—together. _That’s what they’d agreed to in Paris and, again, on the boat. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to again take that leap of—well…

“I don’t know that I can bear to see her, Jamie…” her voice trailed off and she hoped he could read her mind. Her voice was thick and would form no further words.

“The bairn? Katherine?”

She nodded against him, grateful he’d known. In response, he tightened his hold on her and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

“I ken, Sassenach. I feel much the same as ye,” he offered, quietly.

Claire lifted her head to look at him, then. His far-away gaze reflected the contradiction she felt: joy for Jenny and pain for their own loss. Her heart constricted to see tears forming in his eyes, which slowly met her gaze. Raising a hand to brush her lips, he placed a kiss there then held her hand. Moments of silence and dread passed between them as they lay there, kneading hands and imagining what the next weeks at Lallybroch would look like. He spoke again, his voice huskier this time, emotion threatening to overrun him as well she could tell.

“But, perhaps, we can take whate’er comfort the bairn may offer us…” He pulled Claire closer, and she willingly melted further into him. “…and tell her about her cousin.” His statement held a question and Claire knew he was offering her a life-line. She nodded again against him.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I think…I think Faith would like that.”

He kissed the top of her head again, causing her breath to catch once more.

“Together, _mo nighean donn_,” he muttered into her hair.

“Together, Jamie.”

He asked for nothing more from her that night and she asked nothing of him. They soon drifted off, knowing Lallybroch and all its joys and challenges lay at the end of tomorrow. But they’d face them, hand-in-hand.

* * *

_My darling girl…_

At some point in the night, Claire remembered surfacing from a dream, a quiet guttural sound escaping from her chest. Her drowsy eyes struggled to open even as silent tears escaped them. The deep pain in her chest lingered along with images of soft copper fuzz and the tiniest features of…she squeezed her eyes tighter, suddenly grateful for the hulking, still-sleeping form of Jamie behind her. 

Still only partially conscious, she registered movement and the sound of light steps. She felt her blanket being pulled up on her shoulders and small, hesitant fingers gingerly wiping the tears from her face. 

She slowly coaxed her heavy eyelids open to find the round, pale face of Fergus. He was crouched next to her, smiling softly. His eyes—even in the dark, she could see—carried knowledge beyond his years. 

“_Ça__ va_. _Je suis ici__,_” he whispered, pausing to make sure she understood. _It is alright_. _I am here. _A beat passed as she took in his gentle grin and impossibly mature instincts. She silently mouthed ‘thank you’ and he nodded to her before shuffling back to his sleeping mat, once again settling for sleep.

Blinking in surprise at the exchange, tears welled up and overflowed again, but this time not from the pain of her dream. She found that the lingering images of her daughter from her dream rang differently now. Of course, her heart still hurt, but her heart was full—fuller than it could possibly be after everything her little family had gone through. Her family. _My boys_. Just as Faith would always be with her, so would her family here and now.

With that thought, she closed her eyes once more and no more dreams came to her. She slept soundly until the pink morning light woke all of them the next morning, its tendrils holding her fears in suspension as hope took root.

Swiftly and silently, she, Jamie, and Fergus packed up their camp and once more began the last leg of the journey to Lallybroch. To home.


	3. A Soft Place to Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire have begun to settle back into life at Lallybroch--and with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have made it this far, thank you, thank you! 
> 
> This has been my first venture into Outlander fan fic and I am so immensely grateful for every comment, kudos, piece of encouragement all of you have left here or on Twitter. I know this piece isn't perfect, but I've learned so much doing it and enjoyed the process immensely. 
> 
> This is it, for now, folks! But I imagine I'll be around some more in the future....

As suspected, Fergus had easily integrated into family life at Lallybroch. He and young Jamie had become fast friends and partners-in-crime. More than once, Jamie had had to scold Fergus for his foolhardy plans which often involved Jamie’s nephew: sliding down the stair banister, teasing the dogs with lamb meat, or swimming in the nearby stream unsupervised. Claire knew the boy was simply enjoying all the activities he’d been deprived of in Paris, having been forced to grow up so quickly. For that reason, she often turned a blind eye to the more mundane activities, allowing him the freedom to be a child.

And as suspected, the two weeks at Lallybroch had brought Jamie and herself painful moments. Jenny and Ian had been more than mindful of their hurt, offering occasional words and knowing touches, but there were moments that couldn’t be avoided. Each time Jenny shuffled in with Katherine in her arms, Claire’s mind fogged over trying to block out the memories forcing their way to the surface. Each time the family gathered for meals, the baby once again in Jenny’s arms, Jamie would seek his way nearer to Claire and they’d relish the silent support of the other’s presence. Each time they awoke to the sound of Katherine’s cries in the middle of the night, Claire held onto Jamie tighter in their bed.

However, the pain was becoming less intrusive as time went on. Claire chalked this up to the inevitability of it all—and their healing routine of tasks which filled their time. The last couple of days had brought unsuspected joys even, and she breathed easier around Jenny’s newborn. Claire had found that Katherine rather favored her and rarely cried when she would hold her, content to be gushed to or swayed back and forth. Jamie had been eager to hold Katherine while Jenny disciplined young Margaret or assisted Mrs. Crook with supper preparations. To their surprise, Katherine was fairly peaceful in their company and, while a dull pain still sat in their hearts, slowly her giggles and mumblings soothed them a bit. Jamie had been right that night on the road, after all—they were able to take tidbits of comfort from the child. 

With the current evening’s supper more or less devoured, the Murray children were growing impatient and had taken up tapping their feet against the stout legs of the oaken table. Glares from their mother and father had failed to still them, but so far, dinner continued with the adults conversing about the estate’s accounts. Quarter Day was tomorrow and there were still preparations to be made in the morning, which had caused some minor disagreements among the adults. 

Currently, however, Jamie was rather occupied entertaining a fussy, grabby Katherine, who was determined to lock her tiny fingers onto Jamie’s curls. While everyone around him was engrossed in dinner or conversation, Jamie seemed fully attentive to the baby, grinning tightly and speaking softly in Gaelic; his ease with the child was evident as he held her close to his chest. A bittersweet sight, Claire found herself smiling—surrounded by the mirth of his family, they both were relaxing into their roles as aunt and uncle. But occasionally Jenny threw a pained glance toward her brother and Claire wondered just what he was saying to his niece. 

Just then, Claire noticed young Jamie playing with the leftover peas on his plate nervously. He seemed to be working up the courage to speak.

  
“Ma, can we go?” young Jamie finally asked, trying and failing to hide the whine in his voice. His eyes were wide as he watched his mother. “We—I want to, ehm, practice.”

Without looking at him, Jenny continued nibbling at her meal; with Katherine occupied, she was seizing her opportunity to eat a full meal. “Practice what, _mo chridhe_?” she asked, absent-mindedly.

The boy threw an unsure glance to Fergus, who was sitting still and silent as a saint. “Um—church?” he tried. Fabricating excuses was not his strong suit, Claire had gathered.

Jenny, too, had not fallen for the ruse and looked up with narrowed eyes. “Ye want to _practice_ church when ye’ve no’ finished yer supper?”

“You know,” Fergus jumped in then. “The Lord’s prayer and such. Surely Madame would not mind, no?” Claire stifled a chuckle at his desperate attempt to escape the table. 

Just then, Katherine decided she’d had enough of her Uncle Jamie and began crying fiercely to make her will known. The sound startled Jamie, who jumped a bit in his seat, his slanted eyes widening, still trying to calm her. His growing panic amused Claire slightly, as she watched him stroke Katherine’s head and bounce her in his arms.

“Och, hand the bairn over, bráther,” Jenny shouted over Katherine’s displeasure. Jamie did so but the baby’s crying continued.

“Ma? Ma, can we go, _please_?” young Jamie intoned again, this time making no attempts to hide his complaint over the din of noise.

Jenny, occupied at the moment, cast him a stone-cold glare. Ian spoke up in an attempt to help his wife, “Off wi’ ye, all of ye. But straight to bed, aye?” As his son began to protest, he cut him off. “No fussing. Go.”

Fergus and young Jamie, overjoyed with their freedom, even if it did mean bedtime, pushed back their chairs and began bounding out of the room followed by Margaret, who couldn’t quite keep up. She dangerously hopped off the tall chair and began flailing her limbs to catch her balance while she hurried after her brother. Spotting the girl’s struggles, Jamie called out, “Fergus!”

This stopped Fergus in his tracks. “Yes, milord?”

Claire caught the softness in her husband’s eyes just then. “Remember the story I told ye? At the fire?” he asked, throwing a glance at Margaret who had just waddled up to Fergus, reaching out unsteadily for his hand. Claire saw the desperate need to be included reflecting in Margaret’s eyes.

With a glance from Jamie to Margaret and back to Jamie, realization dawned on Fergus’ face and he nodded. “_Oui_, Milord.”

Chivalrously, he offered his hand to Margaret who squealed in joy, eyes lighting up. Then they were gone.

Even with the excitement of her siblings gone from the room, Katherine had not let up her cries. Jenny let out a sigh. “Weel, I suppose _my_ supper is over,” she announced to the table. “Are ye tired, _a leannan?” _In answer to her mother, Katherine doubled her volume, small reddening face squishing with discontent. Touching Claire’s shoulder, Jenny wordlessly excused herself from the table.

“Good night, Jenny,” Claire called after her, watching the way her sister-in-law cradled Katherine tightly. That familiar pain rang softly in her chest, but she couldn’t look away until mother and daughter had disappeared from sight, their bond too precious to miss. It left a grin on her face.

Without a word, Mrs. Crook emerged and the remaining adults helped her clear the table, allowing Claire to occupy her mind. She vaguely registered Jamie sidling closer and closer to her, his comforting presence a welcome partner. A blanket of silence descended on them until the plates had been gathered and Mrs. Crook disappeared.

“We have much to do in the morning,” Ian commented, patting Jamie’s shoulder. “Ye both should get some rest.”

“Aye,” Jamie yawned, his arm drifting to rest around Claire’s waist and she smiled—she registered that his limbs seemed to find her as though subconsciously drawn by a magnet. “You too, _auld_ man.”

“Och, I’ll be up throughout the night—cannae be helped. But you and Claire have been a blessing to us. Bairns can be exhausting…” Suddenly, Ian stopped himself, his eyes darting to Claire. A beat. “I’m sorry, lass.”

They all stood quietly. Claire fought to keep her face neutral; she was growing tired of the well-meaning tip-toeing around them Ian and Jenny had done the past couple of weeks. They’d suffered a loss, not a contagious disease. _Enough of this_, Claire thought.

“Ian, please,” she said, forcing a small smile. “It’s been our pleasure to help with Katherine.” She hoped that would be enough to assuage his worry. And she had meant it—it had been a surprising blessing to be around the baby. At times sorrowful, but mostly a blessing as of late. 

With quiet relief, Ian smiled back. “I’m glad of it, Claire,” he said, touching her arm. Nodding to Jamie, he made his way out of the dining room, wooden leg and soled foot alternating steps.

Jamie’s arm tightened around her and she folded in to his chest, accepting the embrace he offered. They stood there for moments, time suspended. She felt her heart rate slowing and she breathed in the scent of Jamie: dark pine and hay mixed with the spices of the meal they’d just enjoyed. Glancing up into his face, she caught his eyes. Neither spoke as they took each other in. Her gratefulness for his silent comfort throughout these weeks welled up in her and she could see a similar tenderness reflected in his indigo eyes.

The sun had long set, leaving Lallybroch enriched in deep ebony and evening chill, as they made their way through the common area, up the stairs and towards their room. Jamie’s arm still hung around her back, his other hand entwined in her own; both of them were unwilling to let go during the short walk. They parted only to enter their quarters, Jamie letting her walk through first.

__________________________________

The fire Jamie had started once they’d entered had begun warming their room, fighting off the cool evening air. Claire sat wearily on the chair nearest the hearth, curling her toes as she removed her boots and outer dress. Jamie was in the process of doing the same. Claire felt a warmth churning in her stomach as they shared each other’s company, simply going about their nighttime routine, and she watched him unlace his own boots. The strong lines of his back stretched taut as he bent. He worked smoothly and quickly but his gaze was content, seemingly far off. He caught her watching him and his lip curled.

“Staring, Sassenach?” 

She smiled. “Maybe I am. Is everything alright?” she asked, unlacing her corset.

“Och aye. Just—“ he tossed his boots aside and glanced around the room. “Happy to be home,” he finished, smiling broadly.

“Me too,” she sighed, placing her corset aside. Movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

Jamie had knelt at her feet, his eyes locked on her. “Are ye truly?” he asked. 

She smiled again, touching his cheek. “Of course, Jamie.”

Being back in this place, surrounded by family with no courtly expectations on them had been healing for both of them. Claire could tell the tension in Jamie’s shoulders that had seemed ever present in Paris was gone. The creases around his eyes from lack of sleep were less pronounced. He was back to being laird of Lallybroch and tomorrow held the promise of renewed purpose and his tenant’s familiar faces. No Bonnie Prince to speak of.

Her breath hitched as he took both her hands in his and kissed them, resting his chin on her knees, completely content. Then he looked up at her, his auburn curls falling out of his eyes like a curtain. Her heart rate picked up significantly at the dancing spark she found in his eyes, even as his blue irises grew glassy with emotion before her.

Claire was suddenly aware of each sensation. With a small smile, Claire felt gooseflesh spreading over her. She stood, bringing him with her and reached up to place a hand on his cheek, slowly and intuitively tracing the high bones, eyebrows, ridge of his nose. He was there. He would always be there. Her heart swelled.

He was watching her intently but carefully, his mouth open, the corners ever-lifted, and his breathing sporadic. She brought herself closer and placed a tender kiss there. He kissed her back. Claire’s hands ran along his back, tracing the familiar ridges, even through the fabric of his long shirt. His hands ran down her neck and to the small of her back. She felt a thrumming all over and quickened her pace, her grip becoming more desperate and intent.

“_Mo nighean donn.”_

Pulling away, he brushed back her hair and held her face in his large hands. Pulsing just below his palm, and further down in his frame, was a furious life force; but he was unmoving, waiting for a word from her. “Are ye sure?” he asked, his voice thick with meaning. Something in his tone immediately sent her heart into her throat.

The question read in his soft expression and she knew it sat written across her face, as well. They had not been intimate in a long while; Claire's heart had been too ashamed and wounded to seek him out. But the answer lay plainly in the way her skin seemed to dance and the warmth between her legs...she was beginning to realize this was their path to healing together fully. She needed him. 

She drew him closer and kissed him fiercely, her hands finding solace in the red curls at the base of his neck. “Yes, Jamie,” she whispered into his mouth.

With that, they snapped together like a clamshell, relief coursing through her veins even as her need of him built. They began exploring and remapping each other, the familiar valleys and ridges of their bodies humming with shared feeling. Their touches unlocked all feeling in her bones and her walls were crumbling with each passing second.

With each step nearer to the bed, Claire felt the tug in her stomach as though it bucked in protest, unable to get close enough to him. As though her body needed to combine, piece by piece, with his. Held in his grasp as they moved backwards; she seemed to almost float, barely noticing the feel of the mattress as he set her down. He swallowed her soft exhale, as he deliberately and slowly moved from her mouth down her neck, settling at her chest. 

She rose up to meet him. Hovering over her, he placed kisses wherever he could, painting a beautiful kaleidoscope over her chest and stomach while his hand held her protectively close at her waist. Their breathing more fevered, she pulled his face closer to hers and fixed her gaze on him, memorizing his face, the warm breath hitting her nose, the beads of sweat forming on his brow. She had a fierce need for him and she let him know, kissing him deeply, remapping his mouth afresh, once, twice, three times across his grinning lips. 

_Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ._

He did as she asked and for a moment they lay suspended. 

“I love ye, Claire…” escaped his lips. Claire registered the plump tears that were falling from his eyes and she wiped his cheeks.

“I love you,” she breathlessly responded, tears forming in her own eyes.

They’d found their way back to each other. The path was clearing. Compelled forward, they moved together slowly and urgently in a calm ocean with only each other to cling to until they tumbled over into the abyss…

_________________________________

Afterwards, they lay in the silence, their breaths slowing together. The hazy firelight had somehow dimmed the luxurious fabric around them—rugs, wall tapestries, the canopy of their bed—in a conciliatory camaraderie of their reconnection.

Claire traced circles on Jamie’s chest. The night air was cool and with her body still damp, she squirmed closer to him, shivering with gratitude for the furnace that was his body. A rumble from his chest formed into a chuckle and she playfully swatted at him. She was always cold, a source of humor apparently. 

“It’s not funny,” she said, smiling against his shoulder.

“Aye, it is.” She heard his smile as well. 

A few beats passed and Claire’s mind wandered back to dinner. To the image of Jamie bouncing Katherine and muttering Gaelic to her. To the way he looked so at peace holding her. To the looks that Jenny had cast his direction.

She took a breath, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. “What were you saying to Katherine? At dinner?” 

A few more beats passed. She counted as Jamie’s chest rose and fell three times under her before he answered. “I was telling her about our daughter.” His voice was thick. 

Claire swallowed. “Oh,” she said quietly. Unbidden, tears again formed in her eyes—but not entirely painful ones.

“About the ways I thought they may look similar. How close they would have been. How Faith was her guardian angel now. I ken the bairn doesna understand yet, but…“ he spoke quietly, his fingers lazily tracing her arm draped across him. 

The tears spilled over onto Claire’s cheek at the thought of that. She turned her face to look at him and share the small tremors of pain she heard in his voice. “That’s beautiful, Jamie.”

His blue hooded eyes seemed to be looking beyond the canopy above their bed. Claire held her breath, waiting for more, knowing this was his way of processing, of healing. She clocked the furrowed brow as he spoke.

“There’s people that miss her here on Earth, but—I ken she’s watching o’er her cousin. Like Willie watches o’er me. There are times in my life where I almost died. Where my life could ha’ ended up verra differently. You, for one.” Jamie pulled her closer and she willingly melted further into his side. “God bound me to a wife—but I ken it was in part Willie’s idea for her to be as strong-heided and stubborn as ye.” They both laughed just then and Claire scoffed a bit.

“ ‘Strong-heided and stubborn’ am I?”

“Aye, and I wouldna have it any other way, Sassenach.” Jamie kissed her head then and fell still once more. “I ken Faith is, too. That’s why she’ll look after Katherine so well—like Willie did, me.”

They lay quietly together, their drowsiness threatening to carry them off. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever not miss her, Jamie,” she confessed.

“Dinna think I will, either.”

She nodded and took a deep breath, letting the silence hang. Breath seemed to come easier now that their hearts and souls had been shared--it was always easier when they touched, she reminded herself. The weight of his patience hit her then, as they entwined their fingers together. The wall that had been between them since Paris had stayed up much longer than either of them had expected, for her at least. And now that it was down, their path back to each other rediscovered, she felt a deep gratitude that he had not pushed her or asked more of her. Through his own grief, he had just _held_ her in every sense of the word and allowed her to do the same for him. The pain of the past weeks, while still there, felt lighter now.

Finding each other again had eased the burden even more—for both of them.

“Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am to you?” she said, craning her neck to look up at him.

“Grateful?” he asked, confused.

“For being patient with me.” 

“_Mo chridhe_…” he began, the deep burr of the Gaelic words wrapping her heart in a tight hug.

Cutting off his attempt to downplay, she continued. “For everything. Grief—“ her voice caught. “—it tends to come in waves, doesn’t it?”

She felt Jamie brush a tendril of hair behind her ear. He was silent for a while. “Aye, it does. But that’s why ye have me and I, you. I’ll ground you through the waves, like ye did for me on that God-forsaken ship. Ye have nothing to thank me for, Sassenach. Blood of my blood…” he spoke. 

“Bone of my bone,” she finished. One last assurance was needed, one she needed to voice, one she needed him to know. "She was your daughter, too, Jamie. I--I'll ground you as well."

"I know ye will. Ye've done it enough before." He kissed her hand again, lightly as if snow was falling in the middle of summer. Then he held her gaze with an intensity that took her breath away. “Ye are so precious to me. I love ye, Claire.”

Heart bursting, she whispered back, “I love you, too, Jamie.”

Claire felt an immense peace surround her. Her husband’s warm body beside her, his words to bolster her, and their rediscovery of the people they were post-Paris served as a balm on her soul. She felt that through shared weakness, they were stronger than before.

And with that thought to ease her, sleep descended on her as she fell asleep to the rhythmic rise and fall of Jamie’s chest. They were home, in more ways than one, and they would rise to greet Quarter Day—and the rest of their lives—together.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final thought.

_I was dead._

_Everything around me was a blinding white. And there was a soft rushing sound, like the wings of angels. _

The white around me felt warm, like a summer’s day in England. One of those rare reprieves where the sun wraps you in its soft embrace and the whole country is joyful again. I used to lay out on the meadow just to feel the soft, damp, pillowy earth on the back of my arms and neck. I could almost smile—almost. If I weren’t dead, I may have.

My thoughts felt disconnected and free, floating before me visibly. They danced through vague impressions of my life. Emotions washed over and through me without any conscious decision to feel or acknowledge them. Fleeting fatigue, cool contentment, quiet joy…

Then I heard _her_. In the soft rushing that filled my senses, a whimsical voice floated towards me. It was young, its tones not yet corrupted by age or pain. In fact, the tones were so pure they may never have been corrupted.

“Mother.”

_Faith_.

My perfect girl. I watched, dumbfounded and silent, as she billowed before me. I couldn’t see her features clearly, but I saw _her_. My soul knew exactly who she was.

A kaleidoscope of color danced around her head in shades of red, copper, rust, auburn, and ochre even as a pale blue light outlined her form. Slender arms were open and reaching for me. I did not resist as they wrapped around me, my very being, and kissed me.

My heart lept at the embrace, wherever it was. I felt no sorrow—only a rush of joy flushed my senses as she took me in her arms. Feeling delight and home, my mind was unable to knit words together. I could only think back on how many months I'd spent with my entire being encompassing her and the hours I'd spent with my arms wrapped around a body too small for life. On the words I'd once uttered, on the love she'd been showered with before that fateful day. I was not angry thinking back on these moments. I had this sudden realization that she must have known exactly how loved she was.

“You will be alright,” she said. Confidently, I thought.

Immediately, I felt the presence of one who loved me deeply and intimately. I could recollect no name for this man’s presence, for we were nameless and ageless together, but it was one I knew as deeply as I knew my own soul. Images of an iron ring and red curls bubbled to the forefront. I felt a wetness coat what I knew to be my face—had I been crying?

Then, as suddenly and calmly as she’d appeared, my daughter—my Faith—began to leave. She was pushing me away—no, pushing me towards something.

_Stay with me, love. _

“I love you.”

She continued to disappear before me, but my consciousness stilled at the realization of three people joining her. A couple I also knew well and whom I had lost long ago and a man who had brought me with him on many adventures. They welcomed my daughter into their arms.

The sight of her stayed engrained in me and I clung to that contentment, even as a soft tugging and large hands brought my mind back into my body with a thud. Blunt candor and medical knowledge told me two things: I was drowning and Jamie was near. But I felt no panic.

My daughter’s arms had passed me on to my husband’s for safe-keeping. And as oblivion came to overtake me, the memory of Faith smiled at me.

_I felt peaceful…and body-less. Free of terror, free of rage, filled with a quiet happiness. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I watch "Eye of the Storm," the beautiful scene in the ocean where we see Claire drowning has always struck me. With the score inclusion of Faith's theme, I've always imagined that Claire sees Faith in that moment when she thinks she's dead--and that's what gives her peace. 
> 
> Thanks to @SaraScofield72 who prompted me to write this down. It is unbeta'd, so please excuse any errors.


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